


Mirror, Mirror

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Psychological Drama, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-26
Updated: 2009-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reflections can be deceiving, especially after a great loss.  871 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> This story was something of an experiment for me in terms of narrative. I'm still not 100% sure I succeeded (to my own satisfaction), which is why I'm just posting it here. It's (very) loosely based on a real case, and I fully admit to having taken a _lot_ of creative license with the (real) psychiatric condition mentioned in the fic. The LJ-cut text is from [First Corinthians](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1_Corinthians_13).

_**_House_ ficlet: Mirror, Mirror**_  
 **TITLE:** Mirror, Mirror  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **CHARACTERS:** House, Wilson, an OMC  
 **RATING:** PG-13  
 **WARNINGS:** None.  
 **SPOILERS:** Only in a very general sense, for something that happened at the end of Season 4.  
 **SUMMARY:** Reflections can be deceiving, especially after a great loss. 871 words.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** This story was something of an experiment for me in terms of narrative. I'm still not 100% sure I succeeded (to my own satisfaction), which is why I'm just posting it here. It's (very) loosely based on a real case, and I fully admit to having taken a _lot_ of creative license with the (real) psychiatric condition mentioned in the fic. The LJ-cut text is from [First Corinthians](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1_Corinthians_13).  
 **BETA:** My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) , who knew exactly the right phrase.

 **Mirror, Mirror**

  
 _This is insane_ , you think, and give the handcuff another tug. _What the hell is going on?_

There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach -- something's up, something strange, and whatever it is, it's led to this. You were dragged abruptly away from the oncology ward, from your _patients_ , never mind your work as department head, and now you're _handcuffed_ to a _chair_ in an empty conference room.

 _Insane_.

Security hadn't said anything when they escorted you in here -- they wouldn't even meet your eyes even though you kept trying to talk to them. You _knew_ them, or at least you thought you did -- two big guys named Joe and Troy, or John and Trey, or some combination like that. Jack and Trip, maybe that's it, because you'd thought immediately of Jack Tripper on that old TV show ...

You drum the fingertips of your free hand on the conference room table and force yourself to concentrate; it's at that moment that the door opens and you sag with relief.

"House," you say, and, "Thank God," and "What -- "

But you stop right there, because House is looking at you the same way he looks at a particularly interesting chart or an unexpected lab result.

"House?" you say again, a little uncertainly.

"What are you doing here?" House says. "And who are you?"

That sinking feeling in your stomach bottoms out and you feel dizzy.

"House, I _work_ here," you say. "Come on, this joke's gone far enough."

House stumps the rest of the way into the conference room and sits down opposite you. His expression hasn't changed, and this chills you more than anything. He's still studying you like he's trying to classify a previously unknown bug. You tug at the cuff again.

"This isn't funny," you say. "I have _patients_ to see."

"Really now?" House says. "Because I think you'd be a menace to those patients you _think_ you have."

"The patients I -- "

This is growing more surreal by the moment.

"So who are you?" House asks again, and you shake your head.

"House, you know me!"

"Do I?" He leans forward, across the table, and before you can jerk away, his right hand shoots out and snags the photo i.d. from your lab coat. "Who do you see when you look at this?" He holds it up, right in front of your eyes. A dark-haired man with dark eyes stares back at you. He's got a serious look on his face, and his eyes are guarded, as if he's seen too much of a bad thing. The hair's a little longer, but then you just got a haircut the other day.

"I see _myself_ ," you say through gritted teeth, and the faintest hint of a smile quirks at House's lips. Your i.d. badge disappears into his pocket.

"You've had a psychotic break," he says. "I'd say it's not too surprising, considering your ... recent loss."

"Don't you bring her into this," you spit out, but at the same time you can feel the small hairs on the back of your neck prickle. What's happening? House is your best friend.

House shakes his head. "I'm very sorry," he says, and uses the tabletop as a support to lever himself up from the chair. "Someone will be in here in a moment to take care of you."

You watch, incredulous, as he walks away from you, and you think, as the door closes behind him, that you were wrong.

He was never your friend at all.

* * *

"And that's it?"

"That's it," House says. "Brief reactive psychosis caused by severe depression, resulting in delusion disorder."

"I should have seen it coming," Wilson says. He runs a distracted hand over the back of his neck and comes to stand in front of House's desk.

House rolls his eyes. "With what? You been consulting my Magic 8-Ball again?" He picks up the novelty toy and shakes it.

"Oh, tell me, Magic 8-Ball," he intones. "Tell me, will Dr. Wilson ever see another guy who goes off the deep end when his kid kicks the bucket?" He squints.

"My sources say no," he declares, and tosses the ball back onto the desk.

"He was all alone, House," Wilson says, "and Katie was his only child."

"And you recommended group therapy and counseling at the time, and it was two months ago," House snaps. "He's lucky Cuddy's not pressing charges. Hell, what if he'd tried to perform surgery or liposuction, like that guy on Long Island?"

"Someone would have noticed," Wilson says. "He was only here for one night."

"And nobody _did_ notice until your lab coat turned up missing."

Wilson throws up his hands in mock surrender.

"Fine," he says. "You've made your point. The world is full of unobservant idiots, and we're all lucky you're here to protect us."

"I'm glad you've seen the light," House says. "It's about time."

He leans back in his chair and puts his feet up on the ottoman. He looks outside. A thin dusting of snow has fallen, and the footprint-trails of small birds crisscross the balcony.

After a while, the shadows lengthen, and the sun goes down.

~ fin

  
 _Notes:_  
A report on the San Diego man who repeatedly posed as a doctor is [here](http://www.signonsandiego.com/uniontrib/20040524/news_1m24fakedoc.html). The case of another fake doc actually performing liposuction on an unsuspecting patient is [here](http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9B04E7DC163BF934A15754C0A9649C8B63&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss).  
Brief reactive psychosis is [real](http://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/ency/article/001529.htm), as is [delusional disorder](http://www.webmd.com/schizophrenia/delusional-disorder). I'd venture to say that the way I've combined them here is a real long shot. A really, _really_ long shot.


End file.
